


Clipped Wings

by Vashoth



Series: Clipped Wings [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dragons, Hanzo is pretty into it, Happy Ending, Hunter AU, Intentionally vague for spoiler purposes, Jesse McCree is a Shameless Flirt, M/M, Might have a little angst along the way, fae, fae dragons and hunters (oh my), past major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10032242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth/pseuds/Vashoth
Summary: Any hunter worth his salt knows that you should take all possible precautions to avoid messing with the Fair Folk. Most of the Fair Folk, however, don't really give a rats ass what precautions are taken and delight in messing with anything unlucky enough to get within arms reach.Or: Hanzo is in way over his head and Jesse is loving it.





	1. Mushrooms

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: This fic now belongs to an open collection--please feel free to add any pieces that you want to contribute to this AU!!! I'm so excited to read your stuff!!!!! 
> 
> Once I thought of this AU I couldn't physically beat it out of my head. For those of you patiently waiting for a Compromised update, I promise this is only a short distraction. It's just one of those things that won't quit screeching in my ear until it's done. It should be complete in a matter of days. 
> 
> Also thanks (or blame???) to [Fox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theartisticfox/gifts) , [Mango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango), [Sema](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Semageon/pseuds/Semageon), [Silver](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Unchained_Silver/pseuds/Unchained_Silver), and [Lefty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHand/pseuds/LeftHand) for being enablers. And extra thanks to [Tsol](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorQui/pseuds/DoctorQui) for betaing and leaving honest to god the best comments I've ever seen.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways, I adore the fae, and hopefully this brings you as much joy in reading it as it did me in writing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: So [Poptart](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PoptartsUnlimited/pseuds/PoptartsUnlimited) on the McHanzo server is a botanist and actually found[ the mushrooms ](http://images.mushroomobserver.org/1280/48289.jpg)that I wrote about in this scene. And apparently, when you scratch them, they [stain](http://www.wildfooduk.com/uploads/mushrooms/78/cropped/Boletus%20purpureus%203.jpg) [blue](https://c1.staticflickr.com/9/8360/8294959008_67f5f26d16_b.jpg). HOW COOL IS THAT??

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hanzo had accepted a consultation appointment with a small settlement in the middle of New Mexico. They had sent him an actual physical letter--of all things--and had included a sizable check. The letter explained that the settlement’s purpose was to run supplies, which of course was more or less impossible when the neighboring construction teams were all too terrified of the place to set foot in it. The note detailed incidents of old fences bordering the open plains being ripped into splinters, of strange noises coming from the sharp vertical pillars of stone that cropped up in patches across the desert, and of mauled livestock remains being strewn about the town square.

 

 _A werewolf_ , the letter said. _Most likely._

 

So he had packed all his silver-tipped arrows and replied that he would be there before the next full moon.

 

Now, he found himself standing at the edge of one of the surreal rock formations the mayor had written about. Each slab of rock poked out from the sand without warning and the whole cluster of them looked more like teeth than the trees of a forest. But the comparison was still apt. The cluster of them ran deep, and sheltered darkness away from the light of the full moon in the same way a canopy of leaves would.

 

The harsh desert wind would taper down to nothing more than a soft breath before it ever came close to licking up the sides of the stone, staying comfortably in the vast expanses of desert that stretched on ad infinitum. Both the sand and the jutting stone structures were a violent red. Where the stone was still and looming, the sand glittered bright and hissed when the wind pushed it in spirals. Sometimes it would spiral upward, weakly imitating a cyclone before settling down again just as fast.

 

“It’s the iron in the sand that makes it so red,” The mayor explained, gesturing broadly to the landscape. The man looked proud. He was short and stout with a huge beard and a bald head that gleamed in the low light. “Just wait til you see it in the sunrise. It’s stunning.”  

 

“I do not plan on being here that long,” Hanzo returned dryly.

 

The man snorted. He tossed a flour-sack sized cloth bag at Hanzo. “That should cover the rest of your fee, plus tip.”

 

Hanzo felt the weight of it and peered inside. Gold coins, as requested. He didn’t bother to reply.

 

After two hours of walking along the outskirts, Hanzo was beginning to doubt his original suspicions. Though the stone forest stretched on uncomfortably long into the distance, surely he would’ve seen proof of the wolf by now. There were no signs of fighting--no scratches marring the faces of the stone, no blood staining, nothing. There was no evidence that the creature had tried to build a cave, or even set up a shelter to hide away its kills.

 

Surely he should’ve seen proof of anything by now. There were no signs of _life_ _,_ never mind signs of a werewolf.

 

He nocked and drew the silver tipped arrow before venturing cautiously beyond the border of the stone forest. The shade from the rock felt immediately cold on his skin, and the wind whistling around him stilled to deafening silence. Hanzo had very intentionally chosen to move back towards the direction of the settlement and was very much grateful for orienting himself as such when he looked up to find the moon. Instead of seeing in shining bright and full overhead, he saw nothing but empty sky, the vibrant blue threatening to turn into dawn before he reached home.

 

The dawn was expected--the total lack of moon and stars wasn’t. The sinking feeling in his gut turned into an uneasiness that slithered under his skin. He kept feeling eyes on the back of his neck, seeing something glinting gold in the corner of his vision, but turned only to see the cool glitter of blue.

 

He almost missed the small ring of [red mushrooms](http://images.mushroomobserver.org/1280/48289.jpg) in the center of a clearing as he walked by it.

 

Hanzo paused and his eyes narrowed. The mushrooms seemed to glow a little brighter in response, beckoning him. Each had a small ring of gold lace running around the outermost brim, and dark purple cores that looked menacing underneath such a bright display. He felt a sudden urge to step towards them, to stand in the middle of the ring, to touch or maybe even eat one or _\--_

 

Hanzo took a deep breath, let his eyes flutter closed and took huge strides away from the mushroom ring. The connection between his desires and the impossible mushroom dimmed.

 

Suddenly, the source of his uneasiness from earlier made complete sense. There was definitely no werewolf problem, and this was _far_ above his pay grade. Without a further glance at the offending fungi, he turned and hauled ass back towards the settlement.

 

* * *

 

 

The settlement’s tavern was constructed of five gleaming double-wide trailers that had been hitched together side-by-side. The middle walls had been knocked away as clear as could be managed and flat metal planks were bolted across the seams, sealing the units together. Rust peaked out from under the edges of the metal planks, mixing in with mop water where the bartender tried valiantly to rid any trace of it. The man glanced up from his ministrations from under a mess of silver hair to give Hanzo a curious look. He used the back of his hand to push small round gold spectacles up further on his nose before gesturing Hanzo towards the bar with the end of the mop.

 

“Y’must be the hunter!” The bartender grinned widely. “Not much for superstition myself, but if Mister Mayor’s convinced it’ll help with business, you ain’t gunna hear me complainin’.”

 

Hanzo regarded him blandly, slinging his bow case across his lap and shifting his weight until he was comfortably perched on one of the cushioned wooden stools. “I was told I could find your mayor here.”

 

“Sure, sure. He’ll be ‘round soon enough.” The bartender waved a hand. He rested the mop handle against the back wall and slid behind the bar. “S’pose you must have a hell of a story, huh?”

 

Hanzo hummed noncommittally. He drummed his fingers on the wooden countertop. It was nice,  polished in a way that seemed out of place.

 

“Gotta say, it’s a helluva line of work you’re in. Can’t think of much else that requires you to first convince the customer that whatcha do ain’t mythical.” If the bartender was at all perturbed by Hanzo’s lack of participation, it didn’t show. The man kept talking as he started on a pile of dishes in the sink, looking over his shoulder at Hanzo to check for reactions every now and again. “Though I guess if someone’s contacting you at all, they probably got a pretty good idea whether or not they believe in ghosts n’shit.”

 

Hanzo stayed silent. The mushroom ring was still vivid in his mind and he desperately wanted to get out of this settlement as quickly as possible.

 

The bartender interrupted his thoughts by setting a bloody mary in front of him. Hanzo eyed it, then the bartender warily.

 

“S’on the house.” The man shrugged. “You look like you had a rough night. S’about as close as I get to servin’ anything with actual nutrients.”

 

Hanzo stared. “It seems a bit early to begin drinking.”

 

The man laughed loud. “Sure does. S’why I didn’t put any booze in it.”

 

“A kind gesture, but I do not accept gifts,” Hanzo said coldly, using the tips of fingers to push the glass away.

 

The bartender pouted and plucked the drink away. He took a long drink of it before his eyes returned to Hanzo. “Well that’s no fun. Can’t say you hunters are the liveliest bunch.”

 

The man turned around again to pick up where he left off on the dishes. Hanzo knew he should let it be. Knew that he shouldn’t stir the pot in a place he was hoping to leave as soon as possible, but--

 

“Hunters?” Hanzo asked. “Plural?”

 

“Mmhmm,” The bartender nodded. “S’pose they didn’t have much luck if you got called in too.”

 

Hanzo pursed his lips in an effort to convince himself to let it go. Do not pull at loose strings, he thought. This is not relevant to you.

 

“What happened to them?” He asked, against his better judgment.

 

The bartender looked back at him and again adjusted his spectacles with a dry portion of his arm. He grinned and his eyes glittered. “So you do talk, eh?”

 

Hanzo huffed.

 

“No offense meant!” The man was quick to tack on. “Just curious s’all. You stand out even in a crowd that stands out for a livin’.”

 

“Oh?” Hanzo was too tired for this.

 

“Mmhm. Got a way about you that seems solemn. Serious.” The bartender either didn’t notice the irritation in his voice or didn’t care. He flicked some water off his hands and wiped away the rest on his apron. Tucking silver locks behind one ear, he leaned back against the bar to regard Hanzo with the same curious look he’d greeted him with. “Plus, you’re by far the prettiest.”

 

Hanzo blinked once. Twice. “What?”

 

“Said you’re pretty. Y’know. Like handsome. Or cute.” The bartender’s grin was broad and lazy. “Attractive.”

 

“I know what you meant,” Hanzo said sharply, focusing hard on his breathing to prevent the warmth he could already feel threatening to fill up his cheeks from giving away how flustered he was. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the bartender. “I assume that explains the drink.”

 

The man’s head tilted back when he laughed. “Sure.”

 

“I am flattered, but--”

 

“I know, I know,” the man waved one of his hands. The smile was still in place, but a bit of the light had left his eyes. “You’re leavin’ on the first train outta town. Or you got an appointment to keep. Or you got someone waitin’ for you back home. I get it.”

 

It occurred to him that if his suspicions were correct, the handsome bartender was going to go down in flames with the rest of the town. A bitterly ironic death for someone who had announced himself to not be superstitious.

 

Hanzo was sorely tempted to correct him. Sorely tempted to do something stupid.

 

‘Actually, I have no one waiting,’ he could say. ‘But this settlement is built on a field of mystical landmines and I would like to continue being alive. You should instead leave with me and stay alive.’

 

Instead of adding fuel to the fire, he kept silent. It was better that way.

 

The bartender shrugged off the melancholy quickly. “Ulterior motives aside, you sure I can’t getcha anything?” He paused to hold up a hand. “Still on the house. And it wouldn’t be a gift--more like a trade. Consider it payment for puttin’ up with my flirtin’.”

 

Hanzo’s lips quirked upwards and he nodded. The man lit up again, full of life and energy.

 

The door of the pub opened with a creak that made Hanzo suspect more rust, and crashed shut indelicately. When he looked over his shoulder, the mayor was sauntering over, looking about as groggy as Hanzo felt.

 

“Ey, McCree. Vodka screwdriver, would you?” The mayor called out. The bartender (McCree, Hanzo assumed) shot back a grin and a ‘you got it, boss’ before getting to it. The mayor turned his attention to Hanzo and smiled warmly. “Mr. Shimada, I see you weren’t kidding about beating the sunrise. Glad to see you still in one piece.”

 

McCree placed a brand new bloody mary in front of him and winked subtly. Hanzo wrapped his hands around the drink and frowned. After taking a sip, he cleared his throat and spoke gently. “I wish I could offer you better news, but I am afraid I must decline this job.”

 

“What’s that now?” The mayor put a hand up to his ear. “Think I misheard you.”

 

“I said that I must decline this job.” Hanzo said more firmly. He rummaged around in his bow casing to find the cloth bag full of gold coin and placed it on the bar space between him and the Mayor. “Here is the coin you gave me, minus the consulting fee. The check you sent has also been terminated.”

 

The mayor stared at the bag, mouth hanging open. “What the hell do you mean you must decline?”

 

Hanzo cringed. “Your suspicions of supernatural presences are well placed,” he said carefully, “but I am not willing to be the hunter to handle them.”

 

The mayor’s eyes snapped up to Hanzo’s, incredulous look turning quickly into rage. “And I paid you a consulting fee of how much so that you could turn your nose up at us?”

 

“The strange happenings in your settlement are likely the work of the Fair Folk,” Hanzo continued. McCree shot him a surprised look from where he stood polishing bottles. “More commonly referred to as fairies, or fae.”

 

“You’re telling me, that the infamous Hanzo Shimada, the Dragon, can’t handle some fucking fairies?” The mayor’s voice was getting louder. Hanzo cringed at the alias, and subtly made sure his bow case was secure and ready to be slung over his shoulder should he need to make a quick exit. “I got seven different goddamn recommendations for you, and it took the better part of a week to even figure out how to contact you and you won’t handle fairies?”

 

“My advice is to be careful how you speak of the Fair Folk,” Hanzo said levelly. “They are known for their tempers, and hold humans that trespass on their lands responsible for completing ancient offering ceremonies--bowls of milk and honey left out at dawn, or burning fruits and seeds at midnight. Without engaging in in such expected ritual--”

 

“You think I’m gonna bargain with fairies? _Unbelievable!_ ”

 

“--can expect their interference to be constant and relentless.” Hanzo ignored the man’s tantrum.

 

“So go out there and _kill_ them!” The mayor roared. “I’m not paying you to make friends with them!”

 

Hanzo shook his head. “Attempting to kill the fae would not solve your problem, mayor. I am not concerned about just one or two presences. This location is near enough to the divide between their world and ours that fae activity is an inevitability. What you are asking of me is more akin to single handedly causing the extinction of a race that has been here long before humans--and will likely remain long after we are gone.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw McCree’s eyebrows raise, and saw him nod out a ‘not bad’.

 

The mayor was not as kind. He snatched up the bag of gold and marched back out the way he came, leaving his vodka screwdriver on the bar untouched.

 

Hanzo waited to hear the door slam before he allowed himself a tired sigh.

 

“Tell you what,” McCree’s voice was contemplative. “If you can finish that drink in front of you before I finish the first one I made you, then that screwdriver is yours too.”

 

Hanzo snorted. “As tempting as that sounds, I should not overstay my welcome.”

 

“My bar,” McCree rapped his knuckles on the bar pointedly, “my rules. And you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like.”

 

Hanzo rolled his eyes, but he did not get up.

 

“Besides, you shouldn’t travel on an empty stomach,” McCree shrugged. “Ain’t a smart way to travel.”

 

“And what do you expect to get out of my lingering?” Hanzo asked.

 

“Just the pleasure of your company, Mr. Shimada.” McCree’s grin was wide and confident. “Doesn’t hurt that I get to brag ‘bout havin’ a real bonafide _dragon_ in my bar.”

 

Hanzo groaned and rested his face in his hands. “Gold is a practical means of compensation. There’s no need for exchange rates, or--”

 

McCree’s laugh was warm. “Sure thing, dragonling. Bet that tattoo’s got nothin to do with it either.”

 

Hanzo peeked out from behind his hands to stare down at his left arm. The sleeve of his jacket had been pushed up slightly, revealing the tips of two blue scaled tails wrapped in gold lightning. He frowned.

 

The jacket was normally very good at keeping the tattoo covered. It simplified things to not have to explain it. It was hard enough convincing people to pay him to eliminate threats they weren’t sure they believed in. If he had to explain where his talents came from, he could expect to be burned at the goddamn stake. But here he was, his forearm out and visible for the whole world to see.

 

 _Sloppy_ , he thought. _Careless_.

 

“Family tradition,” he said, giving McCree a level gaze. “Nothing more.”

 

“You tellin’ me you don’t breathe fire?”

 

McCree looked so genuinely heartbroken that it startled a laugh out of Hanzo. This put the glitter back in the bartender’s eyes faster than accepting a drink had.

 

“I never said anything of the sort,” Hanzo replied with a smirk.

 

* * *

 

 

Hanzo ended up taking many more drinks than he should have, but after the vodka screwdriver it got increasingly harder to deny McCree any of his suggestions. Still, it was a testament to the man’s charm that Hanzo ended up stumbling out of the tavern with a carefully wrapped “to-go box” holding half a loaf of bread, an apple, and some cheeses.

 

He’d had half a mind to turn around and insist that McCree leave the doomed settlement with him, but caution won out in the end. And so Hanzo walked onwards towards the desert horizon with his bow slung across his back and the sun high in the sky. It would be a long walk, but the next town with a teleport station wasn’t terribly far.

 

Or at least it shouldn’t have been. He was beginning to doubt that he’d read his compass correctly when finally spots of civilization appeared on the great stretch of sand. As he got closer, the forms clarified into trucks, shipping crates, and trailers hitched together at the seams.

 

While he was rarely thrilled to admit to his own errors, Hanzo was positive he would have noticed if he’d made a complete 180 turn in his journey. Sure enough, the compass still insisted that he was travelling the right direction. It was as if he’d been plucked off the map and dropped a few miles behind where he had started.

 

But what was planted in front of him didn’t seem to hold much regard for what should or should not have been impossible. There it was--the same tavern he’d walked out of a few hours prior--staring at him like he was the one that had tilted the world upside-down.

 

 _No,_ he thought. Dread flooded his veins and tugged his stomach down into his shoes as realization hit him.

 

It just so happened that the only thing powerful enough to pull this sort of stunt had taken up residence in this exact settlement.

 

_And so the dragon was trapped._


	2. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: SEVENTEEN COMMENTS ON CHAPTER ONE??? HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS???? THANK YOU???????? 
> 
> I'm going to go through and reply to each and every one, but I figured you guys would appreciate an update more. 
> 
> Twenty-trillion thanks to [Tsol](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorQui/pseuds/DoctorQui) for betaing this chapter too, and again leaving the greatest commentary known to mankind. I'm going to make a collage of all of the comments and post it on my tumblr so that I can look at it on rainy days, tbqh. [EDIT: [I did the thing.](http://getmcfucked.tumblr.com/post/157922080662/call-out-post-for-schrodingerslion-for-being-an)] 
> 
> Anyway this plot veered wildly from what I had originally planned, sooooo. This chapter may surprise even to those who brainstormed this with me. 
> 
> Also, if you're the kind of person who does NOT like surprises or twists in fic, I've included a brief summary of what goes down in the end notes so that you can click the hyperlink to them and decide for yourself if you want to continue. I've left these twists out of the tags because I genuinely think that the surprise is a huge part of the #vibe of this story. But if you think there are things that I absolutely need to tag, do not hesitate to say so! Your comfort is more important than my #aesthetic. 
> 
> Finally, you may notice that the rating changed. That is discussed as well in the endnotes, but the short of it is that there's some vaguueeeely suggestive content now. No smut, and technically just kissing, but. UST has entered the scene. At least I hope it has. 
> 
> anyway, here's wonderwall.

* * *

 

 

 

It wasn’t that Hanzo didn’t look elsewhere for suitable fruit offerings. He did. He spent hours looking, in fact. Part of this was due to insisting on sneaking around lest he be discovered by the mayor. The other part, though he would rather go back into the stone forest and eat on one of the fairy circle mushrooms than admit it, was that he was considerably more worried about running into McCree.

 

His rejection, his final exit--all of it had been done with the certainty that he would never see the man again. Seeing him would feel like like he had been lying somehow. It was same feeling one got from bidding a solemn goodbye to someone, only to discover that you are walking the same direction. It sat uncomfortably on top of his stomach as his labors through various freeze-dried fruit piles bore no…

 

Well, bore no fruit. Quite literally.

 

The only fresh fruits available in the settlement were ancient looking imitations of the one McCree had given Hanzo before he left. The dragon found himself slinking back into the pub like a scolded child sooner than he would’ve liked, but the situation was dire. By the time the shabby door of the pub closed quietly behind him, darkness had already begun to stain the desert sky a dark shade of blue that was too close to midnight for Hanzo’s comfort. Still, there was no sign of the moon yet. There was still time.

 

And he could not hope to woo the favor of the Fair Folk with the withered bitter green apples kept in a bucket in the back of the convenience store.

 

“Cider apples,” McCree confirmed before fetching him another fresh apple from the back, two cantaloupes, a honeydew melon and a mango for good measure. They had spent the better part of an hour dicing the fruit into thin flat pieces easily skewered with shishkabob sticks. Hanzo stared at the finished pile critically. McCree popped a leftover piece of mango in his mouth, humming happily. 

 

“I don’t suppose you’ve started hoarding fruit with your gold now, eh dragonling?” The bartender had been kind enough not to point out Hanzo’s return after his exit. He had just waved him in like he was a regular and placed a drink in front of him without question. “Or is that against the dragon code?”

 

Hanzo snorted. “It is frowned upon, yes. However, the code may have updated. I missed this year’s meeting.”

 

McCree stared at him like he wasn’t sure if Hanzo was kidding or not. Hanzo kept his face neutral.  

 

“You’re an odd one, dragonling.” The man shook his head and almost succeeded in hiding a smile when he turned to pay more attention to the countertops. “Am I at least allowed to ask what it’s really for?”

 

Hanzo hopped off the barstool and paused, looking over McCree as if checking for credentials. For all that the man claimed not to be superstitious, he had a way about him that charmed Hanzo into relaxing faster than any spell.

 

 _There are worse places to be trapped,_ he thought. The words rattled around his skull in a shade of warm brown similar to the curious eyes in front of him.

 

The man’s silver hair was tied back loosely, fringe still escaping to frame his face. The spectacles had been abandoned on the counter for the evening to accommodate McCree’s habit of running a hand down his face to wake himself up. Stubble more prominent than the day before dusted his cheeks and chin. Hanzo stopped himself before he let his eyes drag across the man’s broad shoulders, though he could hardly be faulted for noticing them under such a tight-fitting black button-up.

 

He was a handsome man, sure, but that wasn’t what did it. Hanzo frowned, staring harder. McCree held his gaze easily. _There._ That was it.

 

The man was confident. Completely at ease. It was… a rarity for Hanzo. Even his friendliest interactions had occurred under the pretense of someone paying Hanzo to kill something for them. People kept on their toes around him. Treated him like something dangerous.

 

Not an unfair conclusion, Hanzo thought.

 

“Am I missin’ the joke?” McCree’s grin hinted at his nervousness. “Or are you just enjoyin’ the view?”

 

The words startled Hanzo out of his reverie, mortification sinking in as he realized he’d been just staring at the man far past any realm of social acceptability. He shook his head sharply, “No, no joke.”

 

Whether it was nice place to be stuck or not, he still did not plan to forfeit his freedom to the Fair Folk so quickly. The bartender was kind, but he already made it clear that he didn’t believe in the creatures Hanzo faced. The fae were dangerous enough without bringing along a distraction. One that trusted him or otherwise.

 

At the end of the day, Hanzo still planned to leave the ill fated settlement and McCree with it. There was no sense in teaching the man to fear something he could not change.

 

“It shall remain my secret for now,” Hanzo smiled in a way he hoped was kind. He couldn’t bring himself to make up a lie. He dug around in his pockets for one of the gold pieces he’d taken as part of his fee.

 

He flicked the coin across the polished bar and McCree caught it easily with a raised eyebrow.

 

“For your troubles,” Hanzo explained, moving towards the door. “I do not accept gifts, remember?”

 

When he turned to place his shoulder against the creaking door, he gave McCree one last appraising look.

 

 _You will not be here tomorrow_ , he told himself. _He will be lucky to survive the year._

 

He drew a deep breath and summoned up his courage, dusty from lack of use.

 

“The view was not bad either,” Hanzo was proud that his voice did not wobble.

 

It was worth it to see a grin brighter than the sun stretch across the face of the ill fated bartender.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In any other mission he would have had more time to strategize. In any other mission, he would’ve had more to his plan than a cloth bag of fruit skewers and a lighter. But there was a reason for that. Primarily that Hanzo had taken note of the horror stories hunters before his time left written in their own bloody errors, followed shortly by gruesome deaths.

 

In other words, he had _very_ intentionally been avoiding interactions with fae.

 

Any storybook would show record of the slaughter humans brought to the worlds parallel to their own. Anything that had the audacity to look like, talk like, act like something human without actually being such was branded with the word ‘demon’ or ‘abomination.’ They massacred ancient communities with no remorse. They would burn down entire forests to find one of their own that had gone missing, yet spare no second thoughts for creatures that sought revenge for the nightmarish deaths brought to them en masse.

 

Fairy tales, humans called them. They told stories about how the humans had outwitted their foes--bringing down old gods with poisoned weapons wrought in silver, blood, and cold iron. They described incredible immortal beings they had forcibly confined in oil lamps as if such a feat was something to be proud of.

 

Even worse, they had won. Magic waned in the world, ebbing away in one last low-tide. If magic were the sea, then the fae were the riptide coursing beneath the surface of the current. For all the ingenuity humans brought, the fae had been playing at such games for longer. And for all that humans were ruthless, the fae understood them. Turning a human into a puppet against its own kind was child’s play to the fae.

 

But more than a lethal combination of fickle and merciless, the fae held grudges. In a way, ‘fairy tales’ was a grimly appropriate title. The Fair Folk did not forget who was responsible for the death of their world. And they did not forgive the blood on the hands of those responsible.

 

For all of him that was dragon, Hanzo felt meek as he watched the moon slowly rise over the stone forest. He was unarmed--a tactical decision. Whatever advantage his draconic blood gave would be quickly robbed from him as soon as the fae discovered his trade. They would kill him instantly.

 

He did not imagine they would let him die a quick death if they learned how the second to last dragon had died. Bile touched the back of his throat like an old ulcer coming back, as raw as it had been the day Genji--

 

Hanzo closed his eyes, swallowed thickly, and took a slow breath in through his nose. There was no time for this. He did not need weapons to bare his fangs. He did not need a head start to steel his mind.

 

 _In any other mission I would have been able to prepare,_ he thought bitterly.

 

“Mayor said you’d skipped town! Don’t suppose you’re still here to catch a wolf?”

 

Hanzo’s eyes shot open and he whirled around. Facing him was a cocky looking young man with a wooden crossbow slung across his back. He swung a thin long mesh bag full of metal--silver?--crossbow bolts at his side as he approached. Without the moonlight, he would’ve blended into the shadows of the desert effortlessly, clad in black tactical gear. The only discrepancy was a long thick brown braid slung lazily over his shoulder.

 

Hanzo scowled. “Return home.”

 

“Aw, what’s wrong, gramps?” The young man snickered. “Too big to share the reward cash?”

 

“If you plan on entering this place armed, you will get us both killed,” Hanzo hissed. “There is no werewolf. Only the Fair Folk.”

 

That stopped the man in his tracks, a low whistle escaping his lips. Warm honey-brown eyes slid behind Hanzo to stare at the stone forest, to the moon above, then back to Hanzo.

 

“You’re tellin’ me you’re afraid o’ fairies?” The grin returned, slow and cocksure. “Ain’t you supposed to be a professional, Shimada?”

 

Hanzo narrowed his eyes. The young man laughed loudly. Hanzo flinched and checked over his shoulder instinctively to see if the noise had roused anything. Nothing but looming stone pillars returned his gaze.

 

“Name’s Jesse,” the young man said, holding out his hand. “Best hunter this side of the Rio Grande. Pleasure to meet ya.”

 

“Go home, Jesse.” Hanzo repeated himself. “You have a long life ahead of you, but only if you abandon this fool’s errand.”

 

The second the words left Hanzo’s mouth, all the mirth left Jesse’s face. The shadows that hid in the corners of his face seemed to spread and the offered hand was dropped.

 

“I see,” Jesse’s voice was cold. “Then stay out of my way.”

 

He walked directly into Hanzo, knocking into him with the meat of his shoulder.

 

In any other mission, Hanzo would’ve had time to prepare for interference. In any other mission, his only hope of ever leaving wouldn’t rest wholly on the fruit sticks he carried.

 

In any other mission, Hanzo would have had more patience.

 

Hanzo shifted his weight to his left leg and threw the momentum of the blow to the right to stay standing. Still moving, he grabbed the hand carrying the crossbow bolts with his right hand and twisted hard. Jesse yelped in surprise, eyes wide, but Hanzo didn’t slow down. He brought his left arm up, felt his energy crackle along the tattoos in his skin, and placed his hand over the young man’s eyes.

 

“ _Sleep,_ ” Hanzo whispered. Electric blue current sparked off of his arm and whipped into Jesse’s head with a sharp _crack_.

 

Instantly, the young hunter went limp. Hanzo caught him in his arms, checking for a pulse before leaning his body against one of the outermost stone pillars. His eyes were still slightly open, likely having hit unconsciousness before he could react. His eyebrows lilted upwards as if he was dreaming his full lips fell just slightly parted. Even in the eerie forced sleep, the man looked so much younger without the tension he’d laced into his expressions. He could not have been past his late twenties. Hanzo gently closed his eyes and jaw.

 

Before leaving, he moved the crossbow into Jesse’s grip, making sure he armed it first. Just in case.

 

Even if the silver bolts were unlikely to do much.

 

Hanzo sighed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The moon and stars fade from the sky, like they did the last time he wandered through the stone forest, leaving him in the perpetual glow of twilight. A place between two days and two worlds. Hanzo wondered if the average human would be able to feel the electricity in the air as acutely as he did. Before it had felt like eyes on the back of his neck--now his skin buzzed and he could hear his heartbeat thrum in his ears. The sensation mimicked symptoms of fear, he realized.

 

Clever, if it was intentional.

 

Hanzo would have sworn that the stone was gradually growing taller, like the teeth had recognized the prey resting foolishly on it’s sandy tongue. The deeper into the forest he travelled, the denser the shadows that clung to the bases of the stone jutting out of the sand. Any remaining light that touched the ground bounced off the flat sheen of sand particles in sharp spikes. The flickering reflected light looked like fireflies and felt as ominous as mourning.

 

Still, no matter how far he pressed, the only red he saw was the tops of the stone, lit gently enough to share the same colour as old blood stains. No brightly coloured mushrooms. Nothing trimmed in glowing gold lace.

 

Stone towered over him, the sky visible only in broken streaks, confirming his earlier suspicions. When the darkness got too dense, he let some of the energy pent up in his skin crackle to the surface. Sand glittered and spasmed, reflecting the light at him like it was made of shredded mirror and the enormous stones jutting from the ground allowed themselves to be just faintly touched with blue. It wasn’t much light, but it was enough.

 

Not for the first time, Hanzo longed to fly. Wanted to weave between the tops of the stone, searching for his target from a bird's eye view. He stilled, stretching and tilting his head back to stare at the cracks of blue sky looming above him. He wondered how much time had passed since he had entered the Fair Folk’s home. Or if any time had passed at all.

 

“Fuck! _Shit!_ ”

 

Jesse’s voice broke the silence. Hanzo loosed more energy than he meant to in his surprise, illuminating area around him like flash of lightning. It was enough to see the figure of the young man stumble a few yards to his right. Hanzo moved quickly.

 

“I thought I told you to go home,” he said. “It is dangerous to be here.”

 

“You don’t say,” Jesse returned dryly. His voice was just a little further away. “You fuckin’ smote me. Smited. _Fuck,_ I don’t know. You _cheated._ I thought you were human.”

 

Hanzo’s lips curled up at the corners. “I thought you were a professional.”

 

Jesse groaned. “Don’t you even start, you electric freak.”

 

_There._

 

Hanzo rounded a stone pillar to find… Nothing.

 

“Tryin’ to intrude on my kill, steal my commission,” Jesse’s voice grumbled, a little ways. “Then you go and do that. And now you act like _I’m_ the jackass.”

 

Hanzo frowned, pushing forward a little further. He was relieved to see the outline of Jesse’s figure.

 

“I am approaching from your left,” he called out. “Do not shoot.”

 

“Would certainly serve you right,” Jesse retorted. “That fuckin’ _hurt._ ”

 

Hanzo reached out to touch the young man’s shoulder and his hand passed directly through. The shadowy form dissipated. Hanzo’s gut plummeted.

 

“Hey, Reyes, would you pass me that filter?” Jesse asked. His voice was a ways behind Hanzo now, like he was back where Hanzo had started.

 

Hanzo moved slowly, carefully. “I am not Reyes, Jesse.”

 

“Y’think I give a flyin’ fuck what Morrison thinks of me?” Jesse snapped back. A little to the right now. “Ain’t my fuckin’ problem.”

 

There were two possibilities. The first being that the Fair Folk had discovered them both, and were now playing games with time and space--bringing them close and throwing them apart whenever they got close enough to make contact.

 

Or second, that this wasn’t Jesse at all. That the fae had stolen his face and voice. Whether or not the young man survived the process was doubtful. Hanzo cringed, guilt crashing down.

 

Either way, he was at the whim of the fae.

 

Somewhere to his right, Jesse continued his argument, voice growing more and more distressed. Hanzo swallowed and backed up until he felt cool stone behind him.

 

He sank down to the sand and opened the cloth sack. One fruit stick was jammed unceremoniously into the sand. Then another and another, until he had a small replica of the stone forest made of melon, apple, and orange. He took out his lighter and slowly, methodically set each stick alight starting from the furthest from his person.

 

When he looked up again, a masked man sat across from him. Around him was serape matching the colours of the mushroom ring--a deep purple fading into vibrant red laced in gold. The fabric covered the details of his torso and blew raggedly in non-existent wind. He wore a broad hat that further shaded his face. He reached out towards the fire, revealed a cigar in his hand like a magic trick, and lit the end of it on the flames. When he brought the piece to his lips and inhaled the end flared brightly, briefly giving Hanzo a perfect view of golden eyes.

 

“Well now,” The man’s voice was deep and quiet. It reverberated off the stone and vibrated somewhere in Hanzo’s spine. Those gold eyes never left his face. “You’re quite the rare sight.”

 

Hanzo stayed silent and still. The flames between them licked up into the night air.

 

The man gestured at the offering broadly with the hand holding the cigar. When he next spoke, he sounded impatient. “You rang?”

 

Behind him, Hanzo heard Jesse’s voice let out a blood curdling scream. Then something that sounded an awful lot like bone crunching. He tried not to flinch. The man in front of him grinned with too-sharp teeth.

 

“He a friend of yours?” That deep voice drawled from everywhere and nowhere at once. If he ever made it out of this god forsaken desert, Hanzo knew he would be avoiding southern accents for the rest of his life.

 

Still, Hanzo remained silent. Jesse’s voice sobbed, wretched and broken gasps between screams.

 

“Don’t worry,” the man said through a cloud of smoke. Then another toothy grin given at the exact moment of another sickening crunch. “He’ll be fine.”

 

“Let him go,” Hanzo clenched his hands into fists. Keeping eye contact with the man felt like a staring contest with a hungry jaguar, so he looked down at the fire instead. “He is young. He does not know what he has stumbled into.”

 

“Oh, I think he’s gettin’ a pretty good idea,” the man snorted. Jesse’s sobs were growing quieter. Hanzo tried desperately not to remember how young and peaceful he had looked where he’d left him. “But that ain’t what you really want, is it?”

 

Hanzo looked back at those eyes. _Predatory._ They were predatory _._ He swallowed thickly, mouth suddenly dry.

 

“I want to leave.” His voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears. Smoke scratched at the back of his throat, but he refused to cough. He licked his lips tried again. “I want my freedom.”

 

The man’s eyebrow quirked up. “That so?”

 

Hanzo nodded once.

 

The man leaned his head back, exposing the long stretch of his throat as he exhaled a cloud of smoke that quickly took the shape of a dragon. The creature flew around the man’s head excitedly, darting about and pressing it’s cheek to the man’s outstretched hand. Golden eyes found Hanzo’s again as the man lightly scratched the head of the smoke creature. It preened under his touch, eventually wiggling away to spiral up into the night sky. The smoke lost its shape as soon as it passed the tops of the stone.

 

When Hanzo looked at the man again, he had moved forward, kneeling in the middle of the fire, paying it no mind. The arm that wasn’t holding the cigar reached out and flattened his palm against the stone next to Hanzo’s head. The man--the fae--leaned in close, eyes flicking over Hanzo’s face and landing on his lips. His gaze slowly dragged back up to meet Hanzo’s eyes and the sharp grin returned.

 

“Beg for it,” he said.

 

Hanzo breathed in deep, let his eyes fall shut, and focused on keeping his pulse level. He remembered the stories of proud hunters--and how their stories ended.

 

When he looked in front of him, his own gentle blue glow was the only relief from the face lit up in the harsh light of the fire. Just a small shimmer in the man’s eyes. Hanzo focused on it.

 

“I--” Hanzo’s voice cracked.

 

He cleared his throat and tried again.

 

“I want my freedom. _Please._ ”

 

The man looked pleased. He bit down on the end of his cigar, freeing up his other hand to tuck under Hanzo’s chin and tilt it up gently.

 

“Look at you. Such a proud thing, beggin’ for me.” He sounded awed. His thumb brushed over Hanzo’s bottom lip, tugging just slightly. Hanzo resisted the urge to jerk his head away. “What a sight to behold.”

 

Hanzo stubbornly held his gaze, clenching his jaw and digging his nails into his palms. He would not be goaded. If he was to meet his end in this desert, it would not be due to a beginner’s mistake. It would not be due to a lack of control.

 

“See here’s the problem.” Smoke curled around the man’s lips when he spoke. His thumb tapped Hanzo’s cheek lightly. “I don’t believe you.”

 

The dragon blinked. “What?”

 

“Said I don’t believe you, sweetheart.” The man’s grip on him was still light, but Hanzo did not miss the meaning when fingertips ghosted lightly down his throat. He tilted his chin up in a small act of defiance. The man continued. “You don’t really want your freedom. Seems a right waste to grant a wish you don’t desire, don’tcha think?”

 

Hanzo scowled. “And what is it I desire, if it is so clear?”

 

The man laughed, hand trailing back up Hanzo’s neck until it held firm along his jaw, cradling his face gently. “Oh plenty of things come to mind.”

 

“Such as?” Hanzo challenged.

 

“Such as,” the man drawled. “Bet you’d like an actual home cooked meal, for starters. Been years since your last, ain’t it?”

 

Hanzo frowned, confused.

 

“Drink that actually satisfies your thirst,” he continued, eyes flicking back down to Hanzo’s lips. “The touch of someone that gives a shit about you. A confidant. Shit, even a friend. But you ain’t seen fit to indulge in such pleasantries for, oh… ten years now?”

 

Hanzo felt his heart leap into his throat and desperately schooled his face to remain neutral.

 

The man’s grin was something truly feral. Hanzo tensed, expecting a blow. Instead, the man rocked back on his heels, removing his hand and letting himself be engulfed in the flames. All Hanzo could see distinctly was the blinding white of the too-sharp teeth, and the piercing gold eyes somehow clear through the smoke.

 

“But mostly...” The fae changed his voice again. A little bit higher, more staccato. Hanzo narrowed his eyes. When the man rocked backwards out of the fire, it took a moment for the smoke to clear away enough for Hanzo to see him clearly.

 

The air left him like he’d been punched.

 

“Mostly, I think you want to keep yourself trapped forever, Anija.”

 

Genji stared back at him, looking exactly like he had, toying with the fae’s cigar between his fingers. Hanzo felt his jaw slacken, and quickly pressed a hand over his mouth to stifle any noise. He furiously blinked back tears and tried to convince himself it was just the smoke in his eyes. Green energy crackled around his brother--no, not his brother, the _fae_ \--in unkempt spirals.

 

“I don’t think you could bring yourself to leave me even if you wanted to, Hanzo.” His brother’s voice was cold. “And you don’t want to, do you? You’d let yourself perish every time if it meant wallowing in your fucking guilt. Didn’t stop you when it would’ve counted.”

 

Hanzo choked on his own breath. He needed to get up. He needed to run. He needed--

 

In a blink, his brother’s face was replaced again, this time by a battered Jesse. His left arm had been hacked off above the elbow and he was losing blood fast. With his nose bleeding and his grin bloody, he had to spit the excess blood through badly split lip before he spoke. “Strange that your guilt don’t extend to your latest shit. Nothin’ will ever live up to that one grand fuck-up, eh?”

 

“Stop,” Hanzo gasped. “ _Please._ ”

 

“Beggin’ again? Tell you what,” Jesse snickered. “I’ll grant you your freedom when you _actually_ want it.”

 

Hanzo couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think--

 

Jesse rocked forward through the fire, again becoming the masked man. That hand darted out again, capturing Hanzo by the chin and guiding him forward.

 

“ _Shhh._ It’s alright, my pretty dragon,” the man cooed, stroking underneath Hanzo’s cheekbone. Hanzo couldn’t help but lean into the touch he so desperately needed to ground him. The man hummed appreciatively. “That’s it. Don’t you worry. I’m sure you’ll figure somethin’ out.”

 

Hanzo shuddered, overwhelmingly grateful for the stone at his back keeping him steady.

 

“Now,” the finger at his jaw tapped lightly, “I know I don’t gotta explain how this works to you. This is the one deal you get. Take it or leave it, I don’t care. But this is it.”

 

The man paused, waited until Hanzo could nod just slightly.

 

“Well, then,” The man’s grin was back and Hanzo knew exactly why he was right to fear the Fair Folk. “Whatd’ya say? Deal?”

 

Hanzo swallowed. _This is it,_ he thought. _My only chance._

 

His voice shook. “Deal.”

 

The man surged forward to close the gap, pressing his lips to Hanzo’s, his weight pushing Hanzo flat against the stone. Just as fast, he leaned back, winked, and dissolved into smoke. Hanzo was left breathless, staring at a pile of ashes scattered on the sand where his carefully crafted fruit offering had been.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he managed to find his way out of the stone forest, the sky was still as it had been before he entered. There was no trace that Jesse had ever been propped up against the stones, either.

 

And when he pushed open the door to the pub, McCree was still clearing things off the counter from where they had chopped up the fruit.

 

“Back so soon?” McCree teased, then froze when he actually got look at Hanzo’s face. “Whoa there. What happened? Han-- Er, I mean. Mr. Shimada?”

 

Hanzo crossed the room in a few long strides and caged the bartender between two barstools, his hands resting on the bar at either side. McCree’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He quickly recovered and put a cautious hand high on Hanzo’s hip, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes. “Hey, not that I’m not into it, but…you alright, dragonling?”

 

Hanzo knew he was speaking, his eyes were locked on the other man’s mouth, but only the last word registered. It sounded so much friendlier coming from McCree. Warmer.

 

It rolled off his tongue like someone who had no way of knowing the truth behind the nickname. 

 

“Say that again,” Hanzo breathed.

 

Before McCree could comply the dragon crashed their lips together, wanting more than anything to _taste_ what the word sounded like coming from the man's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!SPOILER WARNING!!
> 
> \- Jesse is the Fae; all incarnations of Jesse are the same creature.  
> \- Hanzo is an Actual Dragon. Human form the whole time tho. He's not ever going to NOT be in human form, just fyi.  
> \- They smooch under questionable circumstances twice (see: jesse is threatening hanzo and generally being Extra, and then Hanzo basically co-opts a shut-up kiss after asking McCree to speak because he is also pretty Extra.)  
> \- There's mentions of Genji's death  
> \- At one point Jesse is literally on fire.  
> \- There's more violence in this chapter in general. Nothing straight up gore-y, but if it at all bothers you, proceed with caution. (tldr: audible re-enactment of jesse loosing his arm, bloodied up near-death blackwatch jesse, some physical threats of choking)
> 
> I think that's all of it. 
> 
> Okay. One more chapter to go.


	3. Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK FIRST OF ALL, IF THE LAST ADDED TAG WORRIES YOU OR HAS THE POTENTIAL TO TRIGGER YOU, I URGE YOU TO READ THE END NOTES BEFORE READING THIS CHAPTER. 
> 
> Also rating has been raised again because there is actual smut. Took advice from a romance novelist friend who has been valiantly fighting to defend the literary value of porn for decades and bit the bullet. (Plus so many of u made thirsty eyes at me and i am weak under peer pressure). 
> 
> Now that that's said. oh my GOD? It's done. it's finished. and it clocks in at 6.7k words. Whoops. 
> 
> I don't even know what else to say. Except THANK YOU to [Tsol](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorQui/pseuds/DoctorQui) for betaing this beast like a motherfuckin' champion. You are truly the Lafayette to my Hamilton because fuckin' no one matches you practical tactical brilliance, ok? Ok. To everyone that is not Tsol, make sure you go read and comment on all of her fics. It makes her super flustered and it should be a national holiday each time that occurs. 
> 
> Also thank you to [Mango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango) and [Sema](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Semageon/pseuds/Semageon) (Semagon on AO3) and really the entire gd discord server that basically helped me crowd-source the smut. Bless u all. 
> 
> Alright. Here it is.

* * *

 

 

 

The room itself was barely more than ten feet wide, situated directly on top of the pub kitchen to capture the heat and accessible only via an old wooden ladder. The scrap wood walls were held upright with bent steel bolts, wire ties, and rope McCree had left over from building the pub. Fractures in the wall glowed bright with the morning light desperate to claw its way in. Even with the morning cracking lightning up and down the walls, McCree stole the show.

 

If the iron in the sand tinted the crisp dawn light redder than normal, Hanzo only noticed it because red was a flattering colour when it danced on McCree’s skin.

 

The man was bathed in it where he sat straddling the make-shift wooden windowsill that looked like it had been attached to the wall with a staple gun. It dipped and curved around the man’s muscles with a gentle touch that Hanzo ached to echo. It traced the divots of the scars that Hanzo knew first hand covered every inch of him.

 

The deepest of the bunch drew across his left arm, almost circling it completely just above his elbow. (‘Nearly lost the whole damn thing,’ McCree had chuckled.) The longest started under the same shoulder and dragged triplet lines down past his waist, to the thickest part of his thigh. (‘Nearly lost everything,’ McCree had said softly with a distant look in his eyes. Hanzo remedied that as best he could.)

 

Sweatpants cut off the longest scars, hanging low on his hips. One of his legs was hanging off the ledge of the window, swinging gently. The other was curled up to his chest. He’d rolled up the ends of the sweatpants to his knees, and he cradled a hand rolled cigarette close to his heart.

 

The golden red outlined his silhouette like a bent halo, spiking into his mussed hair, and glossing over the bruises dotting down his neck. Full lips still swollen from the night before rounded around the thin stream of smoke he politely aimed out of the room, away from the pile of pillows, blankets, and furs that had kept them warm through the frigid desert night.

 

Among other things.

 

The smoke that missed its exit through the open window curled lazily on the ceiling, seeking the gaps in the walls there. It darkened the room in spots and made the light pulse where it landed like it was pushing through water. In its wake the warmth of the desert sun returned. Hanzo breathed it in deeply, letting the smells of kitchen spices mix with smoke and bare skin.

 

Hanzo made no attempts to stay quiet as he sat up, and McCree turned to look at him mid-exhale, smoke trailing his movement like a snake. The way the dawn light hit him, his eyes almost shone the same eerie gold as the fae’s had. Hanzo shoved the memory from his mind, and instead searched for his own pants. Those eyes followed him as he moved, hastily throwing the pants on before he moved to stand behind the bartender.

 

He rested his hands comfortably on McCree’s shoulders, rubbing small circles into the back of his neck with his thumbs. The man watched him, smiling. _Warm,_ Hanzo thought. McCree soaked up the heat like his skin was starved for it. Even in the brisk morning air, his skin felt molten to the touch, reminding Hanzo pleasantly of what it felt like to be surrounded by it. He pressed his lips to McCree’s forehead, then tucked the tip of his nose into the crook of the man’s neck, closing his eyes as he felt the strands of silver hair fall across his face.

 

“Good mornin’ to you too, dragonling,” McCree said, and Hanzo felt it more than he heard it.

 

He responded with a quiet hum, nuzzling in further and pressing his bare chest to McCree’s back under the pretense of keeping warm. Sitting as he was on the waist high windowsill, McCree was a fraction of an inch shorter so long as he didn’t sit up straight. Hanzo treasured the ease with which he could trace the marks he’d made the night before with gentle kisses.

 

“Never figured you for a morning person,” McCree’s voice was a gentle rumble that had Hanzo pulling away to look at him again. The man took the opportunity to swing his leg inside to bracket Hanzo between his thighs. He snuffed out the nearly finished cigarette on the sill, freeing up both hands to run his fingertips softly up Hanzo’s sides. “Reckon I could be a morning person myself if I got to wake up to a sight like this.”

 

Hanzo sighed and leaned forward to touch his forehead to McCree’s. With the window behind him, the gold had left the bartender’s eyes once again dark and wanting. Hanzo frowned, pushing McCree’s hair away from his face to look him over carefully, finding no trace of gold. He pouted, feeling fleetingly disappointed to find no hint of a threat. Some dark part of him wanted to again feel the surge of adrenaline that came with staring at certain death. His thumb tugged on McCree’s bottom lip, mimicking the touch of the fae. No fangs. Just warmth.

 

McCree pressed kisses to Hanzo’s thumb, eyes watching him under thick silver lashes. The pure want etched into his face bordered on hungry. And something akin to adoration that was all too tender. Hanzo felt his heart skip a beat. He pulled his thumb away to hold McCree’s jaw in place and kissed him fiercely.

 

 _Let that make my list of desires,_ he thought petulantly. _Freedom to choose him._

 

The man’s hands were large and firm against the small of his back, tugging him closer. The tips of his fingers curved inward, scratching lines up the planes of Hanzo’s back in a way that made him shiver and arch away, breaking the kiss as he gasped for breath.

 

McCree surged upward to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to Hanzo’s stomach as he moved forward. That clever tongue felt molten as it dragged up his torso slowly, taking the time to circle one of his nipples before tracing the line of his collarbone. Hanzo watched with half-lidded eyes, following McCree as he stood to loom over him again, wrecked and breathless, with a wicked grin.

 

“If I were more reckless...” McCree’s hand circled around behind Hanzo’s thigh and tugged upwards sharply. Hanzo wrapped his arms around the man’s neck for support and let McCree lift him up. He locked his ankles around the back of the man’s waist, savoring the press of skin on skin. He shuddered as McCree bit into a soft spot just beneath his jaw, speaking in a soft growl. “I might think you wanted something, dragonling.”

 

“What gave you such a foolish notion?” Hanzo played along, sleep still thick in his voice. McCree pressed an appreciative kiss to his jugular. For a moment, it felt like the fae’s hand. Hanzo shuddered.

 

McCree walked them towards the bedding, his fingers digging into Hanzo’s ass harshly as he lowered them down. He pulled away just enough to push a hand through Hanzo’s hair. He cradled Hanzo’s jaw gently and the dragon leaned into the touch. Even with his face cloaked in shadow, the curl of McCree’s lips was unmistakable.

 

“Oh, I dunno.” He traced Hanzo’s cheekbone gently, bringing his finger to rest pressing against Hanzo’s lips. Hanzo slid his tongue around the tip eagerly, relishing the way McCree swore under his breath. He watched the bartender swallow thickly. “Call it a feelin’.”

 

Hanzo let the finger go with a wet pop. “And what are you feeling, McCree?”

 

There it was again. The expression flashed across McCree’s face just for a split second, but Hanzo caught it. Longing. It was quickly replaced with the sly grin of the cat that got the canary.

 

“Feelin’ awful persuasive at the moment,” he said.

 

He pulled completely away from Hanzo, the cold morning air a shock in the absence of his heat. His hands were on Hanzo’s hips again, lifting and flipping him onto his stomach fast enough to leave Hanzo momentarily stunned. A warm hand pressed down between Hanzo’s shoulder blades, at the same time as the other dragged his pants back down. McCree shuffled, adjusting his weight on the bedding, until he was able to press kisses to the inside of Hanzo’s thighs.

 

Hanzo let out a whimper that he would deny until his grave.

 

“M’thinkin,” McCree hummed against his skin, hands massaging the backs of Hanzo’s thighs, nails dragging upwards and gently spreading his legs apart wider. “That I might be able to give you something worth staying a little longer for.”

 

“Oh?” Hanzo barely got the word out before he felt McCree’s tongue flick across his entrance.

 

McCree’s hands tugged his cheeks apart insistently, one finger pressed just under the ministrations of his tongue. Close, so close to where Hanzo wanted him. He cried out when McCree’s tongue breached him, curling and tugging him from the inside out like he was a starving man. Another shudder wracked mercilessly through Hanzo’s body. He felt McCree growl against him appreciatively and couldn’t help but moan in response.

 

One hand lifted off him momentarily, coming back down hard. Hanzo yelped, eyes flying open wide.

 

“So beautiful, dragonling.” McCree sounded breathless and Hanzo couldn’t focus with that damned finger circling him without pressure. He vaguely recognized the click of a tin as even that touch lifted from him. Hanzo flinched at its return, cold and slick with lubricant. “Gonna sing again for me?”

 

Hanzo bit his lip and tried to push himself up on his arms in lieu of risking speaking, pressing back impatiently into McCree’s finger. The hand was back between his shoulderblades again, holding him down firmly and ignoring his huff of protest. The tip of McCree’s finger pressed into him finally, finally, and Hanzo arched into the sensation as much as he could from where he was pinned.

 

“God,” McCree breathed. Hanzo felt his face flush, suddenly embarrassed at how eager he was. But the fae had been right. It had been a _long_ ten years. And oh, how he wanted. McCree pressed in deeper, curling his finger up in a way that pried a low moan from Hanzo’s throat. “Look at you. Just…look at you. Goddamn stunning, dragonling. Y’know that?”

 

“S-Shut up and--” Hanzo’s voice broke when McCree added another finger. He didn’t have to look to know the man was grinning. “Shut up and fuck me, McCree.”

 

The hand holding him down pressed harder, keeping him in place as the assault on his ass increased in depth and tempo, fingers twisting and spreading. Hanzo’s knees already felt weak before the tongue returned again to flick at his stretched out rim, just as McCree carefully coaxed a third finger in.

 

“So impatient,” McCree scolded, pressing in deep to punctuate the words. Hanzo snarled against the bedding, fists clenching. He heard McCree laugh before he was suddenly empty. There was another click of the lubricant tin before he felt the bulge of McCree’s cock rubbing against him. Hanzo shivered and keened into the pressure.

 

McCree’s voice was soft and playful. “This what you want, gorgeous?”

 

“Yes,” Hanzo whined, unable to recall exactly what his earlier shame felt like. He just _wanted._

 

There was another laugh before the tip started to press into him. The stretch was slow and Hanzo desperately wanted to shove his hips back and spear himself on McCree, but the hand on his back held him still. He heard McCree let out a hiss, swearing under his breath as he bottomed out. Hanzo writhed under the pressure, panting against one of the pillows.  

 

“Goddamn,” McCree breathed, “just…goddamn.”

 

“McCree,” Hanzo pleaded, “move. _Please._ ”

 

McCree’s hips dragged back slow enough to drive a man mad before snapping forward. A sharp cry tore from Hanzo’s throat, followed by another and another as McCree kept up a ruthless pace, pushing hard enough that Hanzo felt his back curve further into the bedding to accommodate. The hand between his shoulders clawed up into his hair, tangling fingers in the locks before pulling sharply.

 

Hanzo let himself be dragged up to where he was half standing, half leaning the weight of his torso against McCree’s chest. He leaned his head back to expose his throat and McCree rewarded him by trailing kisses down from his jawline, movements shaky from keeping up the onslaught. His free hand pressed down Hanzo’s stomach, lower, lower, until it was wrapped around the base of Hanzo’s cock.

 

Hanzo bucked wildly, wanting to press into McCree’s fist as much as he wanted to shove himself back on the cock spreading him impossibly wide. He couldn’t catch his breath, mouth sagging open in a soundless cry as McCree picked up speed.

 

“Shit, Han, I’m gonna--” McCree growled into his neck, biting the shell of his ear sharply. Hanzo’s mind blanked out as he came, teeth bared and every ounce of willpower keeping the energy that threatened to crackle to the surface of his skin at bay. Distantly he heard McCree swearing. “Fuck, dragonling I’m--... I can’t--”

 

McCree came hard, hips stuttering and the arm holding Hanzo’s limp torso upright shaking. Hanzo’s head lolled back on McCree’s shoulder, nuzzling the man until he could meet his lips in a gentle kiss. McCree’s brow was furrowed and he was still struggling to catch his breath, but he returned the kiss just as fervently.

 

Hanzo wanted to stay there, wrapped up in this captivating stranger, able to feel at peace for the first time in a long, long time. But the ache in his muscles demanded they separate eventually, quietly going about cleaning up their mess with damp rags and soft kisses rather than threaten that delicate silence. Even after pulling pants on, both men still ended up tumbling back into the mound of bedding, curled around each other.

 

The chill of the new morning was slowly leaving as more warm light flooded into the room. McCree’s hand rested at Hanzo’s hip, thumb brushing gently over the jut of his bone. The dust particles glittering in the morning light made the room feel like an entirely different world, away from the settlement that had drawn Hanzo in the first place. Far from the stone forest. Safe from the fae seeking to wound him in ways that didn’t marr the flesh.

 

It was temporary. Hanzo knew that, but he was still grateful to the man in front of him. Though McCree had no idea what the true risk of inviting him into his home was, his actions had likely kept Hanzo alive through the night. Even the fae would not dare to disturb a sleeping dragon that had found something precious, something worth hoarding, in the soul of another.

 

He moved closer, pressing his face into McCree’s chest and relishing the way the man immediately knew to wrap his arm around him.

 

“Good morning,” Hanzo mumbled. He felt laughter rumble through McCree’s chest.

 

“It sure is now, dragonling,” McCree replied, kissing the top of Hanzo’s head. “Delighted to hear it’s mutual.”

 

Hanzo chuckled.

 

“You’re somethin’ else entirely, y’know that?” McCree ran his hand through Hanzo’s hair, content to carry the conversation by himself. “Ain’t seen anything like you in all my years.”

 

 _Such a painfully human thing to say,_ Hanzo thought as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Perhaps you should leave remote New Mexican settlements more often.”

 

McCree scoffed. “You think I wanna be here? Nah. I’d leave if I could, but…”

 

Hanzo pulled away to look at him curiously. “But?”

 

“Money, transport, time…” McCree explained. “The usual bullshit excuses. And there ain’t anyone out there in the world that would know me from Adam. At this point I doubt that anyone would want to.”

 

Hanzo’s brows furrowed and he frowned. He didn’t know what to say, so he just fixed McCree with a disapproving look.

 

“Present company excluded, I hope,” McCree added, grin spreading across his face. “So what’dya think, dragonling? Was I persuasive?”

 

The dragon snorted, pushing at McCree’s chest playfully. He sat up, looking down at the bartender fondly. “You are certainly talented.”

 

McCree stayed where he was, and something unreadable flickered across his face so quickly Hanzo almost missed it. He ran a broad hand down Hanzo’s back as the other man rooted around for his shirt and jacket. “Aw c’mon,” he teased. “That all you’re gunna give me?”

 

Hanzo tugged his shirt over his head and stood, offering a hand to McCree to help him up. He raised an eyebrow at the question.  

 

“Asked if I was persuasive, dragonling,” McCree ignored the hand and propped himself up on his elbows, locking his eyes onto Hanzo with mischievous grin. “So…?”

 

Hanzo looked at him blankly. “What?”

 

The bartender rolled his eyes before he grabbed his hand and yanked him back down. Hanzo fell sprawled across the other man’s still bare chest with a surprised huff. McCree’s arm wrapped around his waist as his other hand let go of Hanzo’s to instead tilt the man’s chin up towards him almost close enough for a kiss.

 

“If I recall, you were sayin’ somethin’ about this bein’ what you wanted not too long ago.” McCree’s smile was sly. Hanzo swallowed thickly, trying to control his heart rate to prevent a telltale flush. McCree tilted his head to the side and stared at him unabashedly. “So give me a hint as to what my hunter’s thinkin’, gorgeous. Did I persuade you to stay?”

 

Hanzo’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. The glint of gold eyes prodded him from his memories and he heard the fae’s words as clearly as he had in person.

 

 _“I don’t think you could bring yourself to leave me even if you wanted to, Hanzo.”_ His brother’s voice echoed in his head. _“And you don’t want to, do you?”_

 

He stared at McCree, at a loss for how to explain what was on the line.

 

 _“Beggin’ again? Tell you what,”_ Jesse’s doppleganger had snickered. _“I’ll grant you your freedom when you actually want it.”_

 

In front of him McCree wilted as Hanzo scrambled to think of something, anything. He sat back on his heels, suddenly feeling like his touch was unwelcome. He stared down at the bedding, frantically digging through his mind for something to offer.

 

“Figures,” McCree snapped so sharply that Hanzo’s eyes flicked back up to meet his in shock. All sweetness and playfulness had left the man’s face, replaced with bitterness. “All sweet words and nothin’ else, eh dragonling?”

 

“McCree--”

 

“Nah, save it.” McCree waved his hand, cutting him off. Hanzo watched helplessly as he dug for his own shirt and shoved his boots on. The man shot one last baleful look over his shoulder, before pulling open the wooden hatch leading down to the pub kitchen. “I gotta open up shop. Take as long as you need.”

 

The click of the hatch closing sounded impossibly final. Hanzo stayed frozen to where he sat on the floor, gaping at the empty room stupidly. Guilt roiled in his gut and he felt that horrible pang just beneath his lungs that told him what he already knew--he fucked up _bad_.

 

Cursing and gathering his things, Hanzo slung his bow case over his shoulder before following McCree down the hatch. He eschewed using the ladder in his rush, feet landing quietly on the stone floor of the kitchen. Immediately he saw the stretch of dark red fabric McCree wore around his waist as the man stretched over the stove, tampering with something in a tall stock pot. He spared a quick glance up at the dragon, then promptly returned to his work without a word.

 

“McCree,” Hanzo tried. “That is not what I meant--”

 

McCree rested the ladle on a cutting board and wiped his hands on his red apron, brushing past Hanzo as if he wasn’t there at all. A spike of irritation shot through Hanzo all at once, and he whirled around to follow McCree into the pub proper.

 

“You are not owed my time--” he started furiously, but stopped short. The settlement mayor was staring at him from the bar, face slowly crinkling into raw distaste.

 

“You made damn sure we knew that, Mr. Shimada,” the mayor spat. McCree snorted and Hanzo shot him a murderous look. The bartender ignored him, instead polishing an empty glass.

 

Hanzo heard the sound of another door shutting and looked past the mayor to see Jesse. He jumped in his skin, taking a step back. The young man was tact--no sign of injury, save for a bruise at his temple--still in the black tactical gear with the crossbow slung across his back the same as Hanzo had first seen him. No gold touched his eyes.

 

“What the fuck is that thing doing here?” Jesse was apparently not pleased to see him either.

 

The mayor looked over his shoulder at Jesse. “You two know each other?”

 

Hanzo opened his mouth to explain but the young man didn’t seem to have any interest in letting Hanzo speak and cut him off viciously.

 

“He fucking attacked me,” Jesse pointed at him accusingly, “with some magic electric bullshit. Didn’t want me stealing his fucking kill.”

 

The mayor turned back to Hanzo looking incredulous. Hanzo risked looking at McCree who was still pretending for all the world like he noticed nothing that was going on around him.

 

“Y’know, Mr. Shimada, I think you were right in your original assessment,” the mayor asserted coldly. “We won’t be needing your services.”

 

Behind him, Jesse sneered. “Y’hear that? Get fuckin’ bent.”

 

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed and he looked to McCree one last time for some kind of back-up. The bartender slung the rag over his shoulder and fixed him with an apathetic look.

 

“Now, gentlemen. No need for that. I have it on good authority that Mr. Shimada here was just on his way out.”

 

They were just words, but Hanzo could physically feel the cold slip of a blade between his ribs and couldn’t help but look stricken. For just a moment McCree looked like he might’ve regretted the jab, but he turned his gaze back to his work, leaving Hanzo alone with his two-person angry mob.

 

“Unbelievable,” Hanzo muttered, furiously making his way out of the pub and letting the door slam behind him.

 

The bright sun shone mercilessly down on Hanzo refusing him the luxury of hiding that McCree’s room had so graciously offered. Electricity sparked on his skin, and he tried to control his breathing, get his head back under control. He wanted to leave. He wanted to forget about the settlement and the red New Mexican sand.

 

“Aw, would’ya lookit that,” he heard Jesse’s voice croon behind him. “It thinks it’s people.”

 

Hanzo clenched his fists at his sides. The only thing stopping him from a repeat performance was the still vivid memory of the young man bleeding out before him in the flames of his offering. He closed his eyes, breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth.

 

A bolt whizzed past his ear, close enough that he could feel the fletching.

 

Hanzo’s eyes snapped open again and sure enough the brat had his crossbow levelled at him.

 

“The fuck makes you think I’ma let you walk out of my sight again?” Jesse said. The cocky grin he wore bespoke nothing of any lingering empathy. “Never heard of a creature huntin’ its own, but hey. There’s a first for everythin’. How much’re you worth, anyway?”

 

Hanzo moved like lightning, his hand around Jesse’s throat in a milisecond, knocking him back a few paces. The man’s eyes widened in fear and he scrambled to level the crossbow again. Hanzo beat him to it, grabbing it around the middle and twisting until he heard the wood crack and the bolt fall limply to the sand.

 

Jesse’s breath came out in stutters and again the sounds of his screams echoed in Hanzo’s memory, loud and fresh as the sounds of bones cracking. He flexed his hand and flicked the wooden splinters off.

 

“I do not wish to kill you,” Hanzo said slowly, “but do not take that to mean I won’t.”

 

Jesse didn’t so much as move.

 

“So you,” Hanzo paused, making sure to drive the point home. “You will stay out of my way. Clear?”

 

The man in his grip nodded sharply, eyes never leaving Hanzo’s face.

 

Hanzo let go.

 

_Mistake._

 

Jesse’s fist connected solidly with Hanzo’s gut and knocked the wind clear out of him. The man snatched the fallen silver bolt off of the sand and took off sprinting towards the stone forest. Hanzo swore and gave chase but the brat was fast. He ducked and wove out of Hanzo’s reach, moving through the jutting stone like it was second nature.

 

It didn’t take more than a few seconds to lose sight of Jesse completely, and again Hanzo swore violently when he looked at the sky to see--sure enough--that the eerie twilight had taken over from the natural sunlight. No moon in sight.

 

“Jesse,” he snarled into the the shadowed pillars. “This is not a game. You are putting yourself in danger--”

 

Soon as the word was out of his mouth a gunshot rang out loud. He felt the ground shake beneath his feet, and saw the tip of a stone pillar tipping out of the line of the horizon. The crash that followed was deafening.

 

“Jesse!”

 

Somewhere near where the stone had fallen came a broken wet cry. The sound of a dying man.  

 

Hanzo let his bow case drop from his shoulders, digging his fingers into the latches until he got his hands around the solid steel grip. He quickly strapped on his quiver and nocked an arrow before chasing the sound. He looked through the sightline of his arrow, making sure his back was against the stone as he moved.

 

He saw a glint of metal dog tags before he saw the rest of Jesse. They hung loose from a chain around his neck and dragged along the sand as one hand tried to claw his way out from underneath the fallen stone. The slab was crushing down on his left side, pinning his arm and digging into his ribcage in a way that distorted the man’s cries, and had him coughing like he couldn’t breathe.

 

Hanzo checked the area for movement before rushing forward. “Give me your hand,” he urged.

 

Jesse looked up at Hanzo, blood trailing from his mouth and nose and spit at him. “Fuck you.”

 

Hanzo let out a frustrated noise and maneuvered around him instead. He dropped the bow to the sand and dug his fingers underneath the stone slab, energy crackling along his spine as he put everything he had into lifting it off Jesse’s body. He heard Jesse gasp for air when the stone budged upward and waited until he was completely clear to let the stone fall again.

 

Jesse had flopped over onto his back, and his coughing sounded more like gurgling. Drowning, Hanzo realized. He was drowning in his own blood.

 

He moved fast, trying to pick Jesse up so that he could prop him up against the stone. Jesse hissed and twisted violently out of his grasp, lunging for the bow Hanzo dropped. Hanzo just gaped at him as the young man drew the string back just barely enough to aim, one eye shut from blood spilling from a cut on his forehead. He spat out more blood.

 

“Stay back,” Jesse choked. “Don’t touch me.”

 

Hanzo stilled.

 

“What are you?” Jesse wheezed. The arrow drooped a bit as his grip slackened. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

 

Hanzo stayed silent, unable to do anything but watch in horror as far too much blood spilled around the young man. His eyes were glazedover and unseeing, like he wasn’t looking at Hanzo at all. He twisted his head sharply like he heard something and shuddered violently at the motion before he could gather the strength to shout again.

 

“Reyes!” Jesse screamed. “Reyes, I’m here! Please--”

 

More blood fell from his lips and Hanzo took a step forward. Jesse’s still open eye was back on him in a nanosecond, the arrow ready to fly. Hanzo clenched his jaw. “Jesse, I am trying to help--”

 

“ _Reyes!_ ” Jesse tried again, and this time Hanzo could see the way the bow and arrow shook. He was struggling to keep his strength. The pool of blood was only growing. Jesse coughed, moaning and writhing in pain as the coughs got deeper, harder to choke back. He gasped for air between coughing fits. The arrow slowly fell away from his grip as his hand went to clutch his side.

 

“Shit,” Jesse hissed. Fear flooded his features. “Shit, _shit._ ”

 

Hanzo knew that look.

 

He stepped forward again and while Jesse tensed, he didn’t try to fight as Hanzo knelt by his side. Hanzo pressed his hand on top of Jesse’s, feeling the slick of blood in a wound that wasn’t going to close with pressure. Jesse’s face was pale as he stared up at Hanzo. Tears interrupted the flow of blood.

 

Jesse’s lips shook, like he was trying to get enough air to speak but couldn’t quite make it. He seized in Hanzo’s arms, groaning and choking again. Hanzo let some of his energy seep in through the man’s skin. Jesse’s eyes went wide in terror and the tinge of blue crept up to his head.

 

“It is alright,” Hanzo lied. “Just sleep.”

 

The blue washed over him and for a moment, it didn’t look like it had worked. But the tremors stopped shortly and Hanzo felt Jesse’s whole body relax against the sand. The warmth left Jesse’s body quickly, seeping into the bloodied sand and carried off in the dry desert air.

 

For the second time, he reached out to close the young man’s eyes.

 

Again the glint of metal caught his eye when he saw the dog tags resting against the sand. Hanzo reached to unclasp the chain from around Jesse’s neck and wiped away the excess blood from the small metal plates on his shirt until the writing was legible.

 

JESSE J. MCCREE

  
Blackwatch Infantry

Commander: Gabriel Reyes

 

BORN: 4 - 24 - 2039

BLOOD: AB

 

Hanzo’s eyes locked on the last name and the world around him narrowed to a point. The air left his lungs and his mind reeled. Born in 2039--nearly 300 years ago-- _McCree--_

 

“Lookin’ kinda rough there, dragonling.”

 

Hanzo knew without looking who was behind him. _What_ was behind him. Around the edges of the pool of blood, little red mushrooms started to grow as if to hammer the point home. As gold lines laced around the brims of the mushroom tops, the body he knelt over faded into the sand, wasting away into streams of smoke.

 

Hanzo raced to grab his bow, load the arrow and whirled, pointing it at the chest of the man he’d woken up with. Jesse McCree stared back at him, unimpressed.

 

He was wearing the red serape that the fae had had the night before, and held the wide brimmed hat at his side with one hand, a cigar in the other. Slowly, the roots of his silvery hair darkened. Warm brown bled through, staining his hair the same shade as the dead young man’s. With it, his dark eyes melted into that same piercing gold that had stayed in Hanzo’s mind.

 

“Ain’t the only one that’s stuck,” the fae smiled hollowly. “But you’re the only one who could be free.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 

If the creature before him cared at all how Hanzo bit the words out, he didn’t show it. He walked towards Hanzo and pushed the tip of the arrow aside by kicking it with his boot. When he knelt down, Hanzo caught a flash of green hair and already knew what was coming.

 

“Stuck in the past, Anija,” the fae explained through Genji’s voice. “Stuck on me.”

 

Hanzo felt his innards drop beneath the sand, his air falling from his lungs uselessly. “You are not him, you are not--”

 

“Does it matter?” Genji’s eyebrow quirked upwards. “You will choose him over yourself. Every time.”

 

“You are wrong,” Hanzo croaked, trying to push the arrow back to where he could line up a shot.

 

Genji laughed and leaned back on his heels. He opened his arms wide and challenging. “Then do it, Anija. Show me that a memory doesn’t hold you captive.”

 

Hanzo could feel the warmth of wet tears streaming down his face, the arrow pointed at Genji’s heart being the only thing between him and freedom. _It’s not Genji,_ he thought to himself furiously. _It’s not really him._

 

_But it is McCree._

 

A flicker of gold peeked through the fae’s eyes and that was enough. Hanzo lowered the arrow a few inches and let it fly.

 

His brother’s eyes went wide, staring at him in disbelief. The visage flickered like it was coming through a bad internet connection until Jesse McCree was kneeling before him in the sand, silver arrow protruding from his gut.

 

“You…” the fae tried to grasp the arrow and cried out when the silver coating seared his skin like a hot poker. He grabbed it again and yanked it free on one smooth movement, flinging the now bent arrow to the side. No blood seeped from the wound, but Hanzo could see that it was not entirely harmless in the way Jesse stumbled when he stood up. The man let out a hollow laugh. “You actually did it. You shot me, dragonling.”

 

Hanzo stood at the same time, nocking another arrow and watching the fae carefully. Silver was not cold iron. The fae would be fine, he knew. But still the hurt in the man’s eyes looked genuine.

 

“Guess you won our bet then, huh?” He said quietly. He leaned his weight on another stone pillar, keeping a hand pressed to the entry wound under his serape.

 

Hanzo gestured at him with the drawn arrow. He tried to keep the panic out of his voice. “Do not lie to me. I know silver would not harm you.”

 

“Still stings,” Jesse laughed. “Stings worse comin’ from you, dragonling.”

 

Hanzo gritted his teeth and snarled. “Do you expect me to be grateful for being held against my will?”

 

True hurt flashed across the creature’s face and he dropped all pretenses still being affected by such a minor injury. He stood up straight, and looked down to where the dropped cigar lay, still burning on the sand. He scooped it up and flicked it a few times to shake off the sand. His brows furrowed and his eyes closed as he sucked in a deep lungful of smoke.

 

Like the night before, the smoke left his mouth as a serpentine dragon that wrapped around his shoulders affectionately. Brilliant golden eyes stared at the smoke creature with bittersweet fondness, running a finger across its snout and smiling when it nipped at him playfully.

 

Hanzo swallowed thickly. “Do I have my freedom, Jesse McCree?”

 

Jesse didn’t look up at him when he spoke, still adoring the creature he’d created. “Yeah, I s’pose you do, dragonling.”

 

Hanzo let the bow and arrow in his arms droop, feeling exhaustion sink into his bones.

 

The fae cast one last brilliant smile his way, but the light of it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then, like he had never existed at all, he vanished. Though he had done the impossible in beating one of the Fair Folk in their own games, the victory tasted sour. Hanzo stood alone in the stone forest, surrounded by the glowing red and gold mushrooms of a fairy ring. He wondered if this was the part all the stories had warned him about. The ones where the hunter had won, gotten his wish, and found it bitterly disappointing.

 

As he stared at the gold lace on the mushrooms, he found himself wanting those golden eyes to be back where he could see their glow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Let it never be said that Hanzo Shimada was one to waste time. He had his bow encased, remaining arrows tucked away, and the still very real dog tags tucked carefully into his breast pocket. It took him no time at all to weave back through the stone forest towards the settlement.

 

Even as he left the fae’s realm of the stone forest, the twilight sky stayed above him. Time had actually passed, he mused, and the waning moon shone down onto the red sand until it glittered blue in kind. The chill had crept back into the dry desert air by the time Hanzo reached the pub.

 

Seeing that the pub was still there at all was relieving enough to give the dragon the courage to push the door open.

 

The bartender with silver hair called out over his shoulder without looking, “Be with you in a sec.”

 

“I should hope so,” Hanzo said. Courage had left his veins as soon as he saw the red apron and his heart lodged painfully in his throat. “I have unfinished business with you, Jesse McCree.”

 

The bartender went rigid and for a moment Hanzo feared that he had guessed incorrectly. When the man turned, the gold eyes that peered at him from behind round spectacles were curious. A hesitant smile was curling at the corners of the man’s lips as the silver haired disguise rolled off of him like water on plastic.

 

Hanzo swallowed and summoned all the bravery he had remaining to walk confidently behind the bar, stopping where he could lean back on the counter and stare at Jesse critically.

 

“I understand that silver does not truly harm the fae. Only cold iron. I have done my research,” he said. Hanzo carefully kept his face neutral as Jesse’s eyes narrowed. “But apparently you have not.”

 

“Is that right?” Jesse crossed his arms over his chest and met Hanzo’s gaze evenly. “What am I missin’?”

 

Keeping his poker face was a loosing the battle and Hanzo surrendered to the smile that pushed its way through. “Dragons do not take kindly to those that would steal from them. And I have already told you that I do not accept gifts.”

 

Jesse blinked, watching as Hanzo pulled the dog tags from his pocket. He dangled them in front of Jesse teasingly, yanking the piece back into his palm when the fae reached to take it.

 

“So impatient,” Hanzo grinned. Jesse smiled back warily. “I am not keen to part with these without some kind of repayment.”

 

Jesse’s smile took a wicked turn as he crowded into Hanzo’s space, placing his hands on the bar on either side of him and looming over. Hanzo stared back, unperturbed.

 

“Oh?” When Jesse spoke, Hanzo could feel his voice rumbling like an earthquake. It was loud and quiet all at once. It filled the bar in a way he would’ve sworn only he could hear. There was a sharpness to that grin, almost but not quite like fangs that set his heart hammering in his chest. “You sound like you’ve got somethin’ in mind.”

 

Hanzo reached out slowly, still cautious of the creature before him, and tucked the hand holding the dog tags around the man’s neck. He reached with his other hand and fastened the chain with a snap. He looked at Jesse appraisingly, then placed his hand softly to the side of Jesse’s face, cradling his jaw and running a thumb lightly over the man’s cheekbone.

 

“Mmhmm,” Hanzo nodded. “I am awfully fond of gold, you see. A lot like your eyes.”

 

Jesse batted his lashes playfully and laughed. “Ain’t thrilled with the notion of partin’ with my eyeballs. Not even for you, dragonling.”

 

Hanzo tsk’ed. “Then I suppose I will take all that comes with them.”

 

With that said, he tugged Jesse forward til he was just a breath away and waited. He stared up into those gold eyes, and sighed with relief when the man closed the gap of his own volition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Young Blackwatch Jesse McCree dies in Hanzo's arms. BUT. This is actually something that occurred about 300 years ago when Human!Jesse carked it and Fae!Jesse was created. SoooOOOO technically the death isn't really... lasting? I mean. He gets better. Which is why I marked it as PAST major character death instead of just regular major character death. 
> 
> Alright, that's all folks. Come talk to me about this AU on tumblr. Or hmu on the mchanzo server. It's [getmcfucked](www.getmcfucked.tumblr.com), and @elainemarley respectively. I promise I only bite when it's appropriate.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on tumblr as [getmcfucked](http://getmcfucked.tumblr.com/), probably screeching about overwatch. Come screech with me.
> 
> EDIT: I now have a tag on tumblr for the [artwork](http://getmcfucked.tumblr.com/tagged/fae-fic) people have created for this fic so please come marvel at these creations with me!!!!!!


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